


I See Clearly Now

by Tranquil_Tevine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Electrotherapy, He can protect and raid people's minds, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Institutions, Powerful Magical Stuff, Slight pyromaniac xD, Slytherin Harry, Smart Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2018-11-09 23:23:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11115063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tranquil_Tevine/pseuds/Tranquil_Tevine
Summary: Harry has been trapped in his monotonous existence and the sparse room he inhabits for most of his life. He has plans, however. Plans to change his fate. Before he could do so himself, something else does it for him.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> The main reason I'm posting this is because my Laptop decided to be a dick and deleted a lot of what I'd written, so I'm saving what's left xD I was disappointed too because I liked what I had.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the same day in, day out. But it wouldn't remain that way.

It was one of those days. The ones where he questioned, why me? Questions of any kind had never helped before, especially when one preferred he didn't speak.

  
Questions were dangerous because the answers could be even more so.

 

They all thought him mute, incapable of speech or coherent thought. He would let them think that. He simply hadn't found anyone worth his time.

 

He grunted a little as his shoulder blades twinged. The straitjacket he was forced to wear almost 24 hours a day really took its toll. He was able to remove it, unknown to the doctors, but it wouldn't help him escape his cell, the hospital was most certainly a maze.

 

He'd been here for most of his short life, flashes of memories indicating that the family who were supposed to have taken him in left him here. 

 

He didn't have much contact with his fellow inmates, or was it patients? They called it a hospital and _'provided support to the patients.'_   But it was more of a prison than anything.

 

There was nothing wrong with him, despite their insistence. Everyone else here had genuine mental problems and his gift, his magic, was special, not something which could be cured by their incessant use of Electroconvulsive Therapy. No matter how many sessions, and recently they had upped said sessions to four times a week rather than two, the magic would always be within him.

 

He focused his intent and will. Impressive, especially for an 11-year-old. He smiled, or his version of a smile. His lip twitched, watching the snowflakes fall from the little cloud he'd conjured. Or, most of it, until he flipped back his waist length hair so he was able to see properly.

 

He was allowed to bathe once a month if that. Also, for all that they were trying to help them, he certainly didn't appreciate the doctors probing his emaciated and abused body. Regardless of if he went willingly or not, they seemed to take delight in punching and slapping him around.

 

Hargreaves certainly didn't help matters either, another unfortunate bastard destined to forever live his life in this definite hell hole.

 

The constant banging reminded the child that he was indeed not alone in suffering. He never conversed with anyone, however, Hargreaves left him simultaneously annoyed and amused with his insults to the staff. Would he never learn? He'd hadn't seen the man in person, so his age never sprang to mind. Older than him was a definite. What he'd come to realise over the years, however, is that while the Staff most likely had genuine qualifications for their jobs, they had no idea how to do it properly, except for working the equipment. Either that or they simply didn't care, beyond payment.

 

“Ah, Mr Hargreaves. How are we this evening?”

 

“Better. Your tits make for a nice view, hehe!”

 

There was a curious feeling that he was not referring to the bird.

 

“Oh dear, it seems you are in need of some more therapy.”

 

“NO!”

 

And then, the banging. It was rhythmic and suggested his neighbour was using the padded walls to run into. To achieve what he didn't know, but it wouldn't get him anywhere.

 

He struggled to his feet, difficult without the use of his arms to balance, concentrating on the cloud which disappeared with a pop. He chose a slightly softer surface than the floor, albeit not much better, but his bed. He couldn't really claim ownership. The room which he spent all his time in was the minimum size to be able to house a bed, one patient and a few doctors, along with their Electro fuck up machine.

 

While his magic did heal the aftershocks and stinging pain, they couldn't remove the lasting damage to his system. The trembles which ran through his system, particularly affecting his hands when the jacket was removed for sleep, no pillows obviously, unless he tried to smother himself. He was not suicidal. If there was anyone he'd kill it would definitely be the so-called well-meaning staff. He'd let them suffer, perhaps a few circumstances in place which would lead to their accidental death. Or burn the place down, he wasn't fussy.

 

He grimaced, mental calendar confirming that today was the day his tutor would visit, teaching him the basics of what he should know.

 

He knew more than any of them realised. One day, a few days after his arrival here, he must have been about three or four, he'd been startled when he'd made eye contact with the person who'd left him in this room. He could see all their thoughts, laid bare before him. That was by accident and over the years, he'd read every single member of staff's mind, as at least one had made eye contact with him. But overtime, he had less of a need for eye contact.

 

This was how he knew so much about life. In sleep, he could access his thoughts and sort them out. Each thought created his mental room, an exact replica of his own room since that was all he'd ever known. He'd never been outside, at least not before he'd come here.

 

Like with everyone else, his tormentors chose to tie him down. For his therapy, they removed the jacket, laying him down on a hard surface, hooked up to a damn machine, leather restraints damaging him further as his limbs jerked against his will, vicious seizures which lasted for several minutes, cramping his muscles. This was meant to help, though he didn't know how. These days, though, he didn't feel as much of the pain. He had been learning to harness his mind. He retreated into his mind, especially on a night. It was his safe place, safe from the nightmares which plagued him, though these nightmares had occurred before, memories.

 

He was sure that if he didn't retreat into his mind, he really would lose grip on the sanity he had which they claimed he didn't.

 

The only beneficial thing would be if he were ever released, doubtful what with the looks and comments he received. If lightning should strike him, he might not die. Who knows? Maybe with his magic, he could conduct electricity. Best not to tempt fate though.

 

He gave a self-satisfied smirk, remembering vividly how tits McGee (As he liked to call her thanks to Hargreaves) had suddenly and inexplicably lost all her lovely long blonde hair, falling out before her eyes.

 

They were apparently too idiotic to realise that it was magic. They saw magic as merely shooting fireballs in a fairy tale but there was much more to it than that.

 

If there was one thing the Electro Therapy did, it leaked knowledge not from this timeline into his consciousness. There used to be something else in there with him, but the strain of the unknown and the inability to escape the human body and after that the environment, had caused it to wither and die, but that was after the knowledge was left to him.

 

Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, smiled. Or at least tried to. If he ever did leave the place, he'd promise to think hard about his vengeance and perhaps investigate who else was institutionalised when there wasn't even anything wrong with them. His urge for revenge on his tormentors was strong, equally as strong as the desire to protect those weaker than him, or under attack and vulnerable, much like he was.

 

Little did he know that despite the physical and mental trauma and isolation he was put through, for he had never left the room he was in since he'd been brought there, a letter would change his life forever.


	2. Past Alight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry puts his plan into action and finally, he's free.

Minerva McGonagall looked at Harry Potter's Address with no small amount of shock and disbelief. This couldn't be right, surely. The quill was rarely at fault but she always checked the addresses in case there was a mistake. Surely this was one.

 

 

_Mr H Potter_

_Hanwell Asylum_

_Room 13_

_London_

_Middlesex_

 

 

She had to see Albus about this. As soon as he returned from his duties as Chief Mugwump.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry had been waiting for this moment. Finally, it looked as though he'd be ready.

 

He received more Electro Therapy that what was healthy and would have long ago driven a Muggle mad, but because he was a Wizard, they had a higher mind endurance. Added to the fact that he was excellent in the mind arts, He focused on that energy, absorbing and filtering out what he was physically capable of doing.

 

Since he was five years old, he'd been knowingly doing this. It didn't come without a price, however, the muscle aches and shakes he had could have been much more severe, but it didn't help some of the memory blanks he had, where he was unsure if the memories lost were important to him, but no more.

 

 _'You'd think they'd seal the cracks beneath the doors.'_   Harry sneered, letting the magic dance around him. He snapped the bonds on his straitjacket, kneeling so his rather cat-like eye was squinting beneath the crack. Just a little fire would do.

 

He stopped a moment, spotting some paper on the floor. Without a word and a little gesture, an envelope addressed to him was revealed. He gave it a slightly suspicious glance, but his eyebrows raised as he read through the contents.

 

This didn't change his plan, only the end result.

 

He had no possessions to call his own, only the meagre clothes on his back. He didn't know how to change his clothing to something decent, but he did clean his long hair in the bucket they gave him, at least for a very short period of time. Of course, he couldn't be trusted with a sink. He decided to let his hair drip dry, using strips of cloth to create a tie, now having a long braid to keep his hair back. He was as ready as he ever was going to be.

 

In precisely a minute, every Ward door would be opened, ready for Tutors for the smaller children or 'Treatment' for the others. While he knew there were certainly a few nutcases, he was certain that like him, there was truly nothing wrong with them. He decided to give them all a chance. He needn't worry about straitjacket removal, as the doctors would do their job for him, preparing them for lessons and treatment alike.

 

Spreading the flat of his hand on the floor, lines of fire burst from his fingertips. Nothing would set alight, the building would just increase in temperature.

 

The harsh clank of bolts grated on Harry's ears, as they did almost daily.

 

Emily, his tutor, walked into the room, though she was stunned that his arms were free. He'd never demonstrated that he could escape his confines before now, but since it was the beginning of the end, he saw no reason why one person couldn't find out.

 

“Harry, how did you remove your jacket?” She enquired gently, entering the room.

 

He didn't answer, giving her a solemn look. “I would run if I were you.”

 

Before she could answer, a wall of fire spread up the long corridor.

 

Her screams alerted the other members of staff and while they did have fire extinguishers, Harry's fire would consume all in its path, all which wasn't worthy of saving. Only Emily treated him decently but even then she still looked at him as though he were a lost cause. Silently, he watched the chaos surrounding him, nodding at Hargreaves and some of the other inmates as they made a mad dash for the exit, or what was left of it. His main target was the building. Once the building was demolished, then it would start on the people within it. After that, it would flicker and die.

 

Curiously and with slight apprehension, he removed himself from the burning building and was overwhelmed by the huge amount of space, a little intimidated, to tell the truth, but slowly, he smiled.

 

He was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd written so much more of this :( but this is the last of what I have, I don't know what happened to the document but it corrupted in some way. I'll definitely rewrite it though, I'm rather fond of this plot :P


	3. Eyes Wide Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's his first time in a long time, able to freely walk further than just pacing the very little space in his room. He takes advantage of this, searching for a way to get to his destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally have something :D I lost motivation when most of what I had got deleted, but I actually prefer how this is to what I had, it makes a lot more sense.

Freedom came with a price, this was something that Harry knew. But looking at the vast amount of clear blue sky with his back faced to the ashen husk that was once one of the only homes he'd ever known, this was one price he was willing to pay.

 

Tremors ran through his frame, some not entirely due to the Electrotherapy but actually seeing and experiencing for himself, the first time in his life.

 

It would be strange to wear shoes, whenever he acquired some. Of course not allowed, as one could find some inventive ways to die. Not that he cared. Fire did such a remarkable job, after all.

 

Turning back once to see the ruins of what was, another smile. Or as close to one as he could get, having no reason to do so previously.

 

Gravel lay at his bare feet, the sensation foreign but not unwelcome, he instead switched to the grass, unable to help but wiggle his toes.

 

"Curious." The word barely left his lips before it carried away on the breeze, so quietly spoken most would miss it.

 

A master at staying unnoticed or quiet he managed to slip out of the area, even when the Police, Firefighters and Ambulance began to swarm the surroundings. The Medical Team would find no lives to save, as all were snuffed out by his all-consuming fire. There was no fire to put out as once he left it stopped, having no need to stay when the owner hadn't.

 

As for the Police, they could try. However, it was nothing but futile. Clutching the letter in his grasp, he observed his surroundings in interest, sticking to the less crowded areas where possible and briefly scanning the minds of those he passed.

 

His aim was to find a fellow magic user, one who could hopefully point the way to the Leaky Cauldron as for all the information he had, none was in relation to that particular location.

 

With time the tremors began to fade, his usual composure replacing them. With that he was able to concentrate fully and immediately, without having to scan one man's mind, he could tell it was a magic user. The aura surrounding him differed to the others, not to mention his way of dressing made him stand out like a sore thumb. The kind of sore thumb attending a fancy dress convention.

 

He took a tentative approach to this person's mind, aware that he wouldn't be the only one with the ability to read and possibly shield his mind. That wasn't something he had the need to do, however, it couldn't hurt to know a little more about what he'd be dealing with.

 

He needn't have worried. Casually leaning against a lamppost as the man apparently called Dedalus Diggle walked by, his defences were barely there. Either that or Harry was so used to mind reading that he didn't see him as a challenge in particular.

 

It took no more than a few seconds to have what he needed. From where he was now, the place he needed to acquire school equipment from, Diagon Alley, was roughly 14 miles away. Witches and Wizards have a mode of reckless transport, in the form of the Knight Bus, the plus being it would get you to your destination much quicker than travelling by regular means.

 

Reckless mode of transport or not, Harry would welcome it. Being among so many people when at most he'd had three people in his room previously was making him feel on edge.

 

The less attention he attracted, the better. with time he would adapt to his surroundings but right now he needed a slightly isolated spot, where not as many people were bustling about. Though those not busy travelling to and from work were instead gravitating to what was once his prison, curiously watching as the authorities tried to pinpoint how it all started.

 

And unless they had a magic user among their ranks, impossible. Even with one Harry was confident they'd have a challenge on their hands.

 

A barely noticeable smirk crossed his face. After a short while, he did manage to find a slightly secluded spot. He didn't have a wand, but it was the magic and its intent the buses appeared before, not the wand itself. It was merely there to be seen physically.

 

Though it was a little odd in his mind to stretch a hand in front of him and focus on magic to summon transportation, Harry listed this as another thing which he would adapt to with time.

 

He sensed the displacement of air before the bus physically appeared, so he wasn't startled by the loud sound of its sudden appearance. He had heard louder in the form of Hargreaves' screams, after all. His own hadn't left his lips for many years now, knowing it would only satisfy the more sadistic tastes of the now deceased 'doctors'.

 

"Welcome ter da Knight Bus, emergency transpawt fer stranded witches and wizards. My name is Stan Shunpike an' I'll be your conductor today."

 

The man who appeared standing on the bus spoke with a cockney accent and only looked a couple of years older than him.

 

Harry nodded silently.

 

"I can tell by looking. You've got nothin' on you. Just pay me back when you next use our service, yeah?" Stan told him, a frown marring his features as he took a good look. "What 'appened ter you anyway?"

 

Harry gave him a smile. It wasn't a pleasant one, anyone could tell, faint as it was. "You're better off not knowing the details."

 

He said nothing more, cautiously stepping onto the bus and didn't even need Stan's warning to hold onto something. He didn't know what. however. The seats weren't fixed at all and would definitely move about.

 

Though he'd had plenty of time to experiment with magic, outside of the elements he didn't have that much experience. He didn't know how to even begin to use his magic to help him stay firmly in place and to not be shaken around like a child with Maracas.

 

He would have to deal with it, as he had with everything else in his life, really. With that thought in mind, he gripped his seat hard and tried to prepare himself.

 

Though nothing really could prepare him for the utter chaos. He'd never been shaken around, simply left to his own devices, restrained or strapped in place. He'd never even been in a moving vehicle before, at least not one he could remember, no doubt the family who left him in the asylum drove there unless they lived nearby.

 

Not even gripping the seat worked, bruises which had still yet to fade painfully reminding him of their presence as he slammed into the bus sides more than once. Reckless wasn't even the word here, he couldn't see the scenery outside due to the blinding speed they travelled at, not to mention the disconcerting feeling of being squeezed when passing through two moving buses.

 

To its credit though, despite being more than uncomfortable, it couldn't have lasted for more than ten minutes, though admittedly to Harry it was more of an eternity.

 

"Thank you." He spoke shortly to Stan, intending to do what he said and pay him back, one he had access to actual money.

 

Leaving the bus and needing a few seconds to maintain his balance, Harry cocked his head at the sight of many people passing by The Leaky Cauldron and only one or two actually entering the pub itself.

 

Leaving Hanwell was the first step. Entering this place would be the second, not to mention the start of his new life, something which he was very much looking forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating all my fics which haven't been in a while, my next one will probably be Goblet of Blasted Fire, though Eyes of Avada Green takes priority :)

**Author's Note:**

> I've read one or two fics where Harry is placed into a mental hospital and I enjoyed them, so my turn really :P that and it's another thing which has made itself at home on my laptop.


End file.
